


Harry & the  Immortal  Stone's history rewritten

by Morpheus_Dream_Maker



Series: Harry's History Rewritten [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Original magicaul creature, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus_Dream_Maker/pseuds/Morpheus_Dream_Maker
Summary: On the night before Halloween an dying elderly wizard uses a legendary creature trapped from an antiquity time. Harry Potter travels back to the night before Halloween of 1981 Godric’s Hollow to change things about the night that his parents died, and left him and orphan. How that meddling in time will effects not only baby Harry’s life but the lives of others and perhaps even the events on how all seven years at Hogwarts.





	Harry & the  Immortal  Stone's history rewritten

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly I want it to be known that this is a rewrite or reworking of my original story back at fanfiction.net and so I didn't steal the fanfic below. 
> 
> Also to anyone of Scottish, Irish, or American-Welsh decent. The depiction of the people are identified as those groups below are not some stereotype thing of said people in general. They are simply the type of people the nobby rich snob picked out to be friends with and are not meant to offend.
> 
> Also this mark * when used means there will most likely be a translation of down below at the end of the chapter. I will do my best to announce at the beginning when such a mark is likely to be in the chapter, though I may miss or forget to do that. Please if so inform me about it when it happens, as I am only human. 
> 
> Well beyond that all I have to say is I hope you enjoy the chapter ahead of you and the fanfic as a whole as it unravels before you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series; it is the property of  
> J.K. Rowling, and who-ever is the past to current publishers of the books and  
> future ones. All that I own is the original characters introduced in this   
> fanfic along with the sort of time-traveling method used, as far as I’m aware  
> of so far within Harry Potter time-travel fanfics.

       The dark thick storm clouds seemed to boil as they were forcefully rolled into each other by the violently raging winds that had brought them together in the first place. Flashes of white light from the lightening that crackled the soaking wet night air and threw the cloud formation into relief in the night sky of the West County of Britain.

       The rumble noise of thunder created by the lightening barely made it from their heavenly birthplace to the skyline of the of the bustling, and important medium size metropolis of Devon. Its’ size would continue to grow over the coming years if the city government and mostly the recently elected Prime Minister of the United Kingdom if she had her way in Parliament.

       After all she had been the former MP of the area within a stones throw of the Devon metropolis before her party had won the most votes in the latest general election, and she owned it to many movers and shakers that ran the Haven Glory’s Hollow.

       Of course she was now safely sowed away in London many miles away in the Eastern part of the country. Far away even now to fear that the rain from the storm clouds might last even longer then the Biblical flood of Noah, which whipped out every living thing as it downed the world whole.

     Indeed the rain was coming down in such heavy sheets that scarcely was out and about. and those that had been caught unaware of the such a heavily collection of water filled storm system would strike the city, took shelter were they were. So every pub, shop or nearby hotel was filled, and the streets only who’d risk moving about the city’s streets, would be either the bravest, dumbest, or drunkest of the metropolis’ residents.

     The occupants of a lone bright red, luxury, Italian sports car that sped swiftly along the long stretch of city street, boarder on the right by pavement and a row of William styled terrace houses. On the left hand side of the street stood some protected woodlands that made up one of the city’s many parks.

     They were obvious of the latter of the three groups of residences given the rowdy, drunken, masculine chants of ‘Mischief Night.’ Which that rose briefly out of the heavily tinted side windows and front and back windscreens of the sport car’s cabin. Though any celebrated outburst of the night’s events only escaped a few yards on either side of the speeding, slick, lightweight body of automobile construction. Then the noises of the four men were swallowed quickly up by the hollow of the violent and powerful winds that had brought the city to an almost utter stand still.

      Of course in truth only one of the four men could truly consider themselves a resident of Haven Glory’s Hollow, and he was the least drunken of the four men as well as the driver and owner of the sport car on the city street. Nigel Roden after all had been born and raised most of his life in the metropolis until he left for uni to obtain his business degree. Which said degree he never got as once he’d reached uni Nigel had found his freedom from the iron reach of his father Simon Roden and dropped out after only a year and half.

      After that he’d taken to his trust fund to travel the world and enjoy all the finer things from excessive wines, fast cars, faster and very fit birds to play with and leave on every content of the world. He’d only returned back because he’d emptied said trust fund and could only get his hands on more money without working by biding his time at home until the death of his grandfather Sir Daniel Roden.

     Though neither his recent finical woes that had forced return to the city of his birth until the passing of his elderly and sick grandfather, was the reason for his pale bluish ting to his sickly continence. The ting was caused by the glow from the car’s windscreen up display that translated the car sensors and helped car with visually through the pouring rain. Everything was working to aid Nigel in keeping the car off the pavements and on the right side of the road.

       The sickly part came because of two factors one being how much alcohol was in his system as he was not sober but only less drunk then his friends, and as to the second half it was the loud noises said friends who filled up the back and right front passenger side seat within the cabins’ confined space.

       “Alasddaiir, handzz itts totz Stevvie thezzes firez-firezworkies lancherr, sooo Izzz cansess seezz howzzz thiss stormm efffects themmm.” * Loudly and with an Irish accented voice slurred his words called from the back right side of the car. Nigel watched rear-view monitor as a long stringy dirty blonde haired thirty-something man with a lean build, and wearing a black leathery looking jacket. Beneath said jacket he wore only white t-shirt slightly stained in several places with amber lager.

       The blonde reached out with his free hand not holding the bottle from which the amber liquid that no doubt stained his t-shirt. It only now filled less then an inch from the bottle’s bottom end as slender fingers held loosely the bottle’s neck and top end.

      The one handed approach to getting the cylinder shaped firework launcher, seated between the thighs of the slightly short burly built, palely white complexion also thirty-some man with bright red hair, seemed to be a fruitless task.

      The guardian of the firework launch looked and behaved as if the slender blonde was no concern for him even with him half drunk and holding a large bottle of some brownish red liquid in one hand. on the back seat cushion and the two pinned between the outside of the man’s right leg and the inside wall of the car’s cabin. His red hair was cut and styled in a strange horseshoe like around the head Mohawk and he bore several nose pierced studs and several more in the right eyebrow opposite the nose rings.

      “Getoff Breandán, neither you or Stevie are going to set my fireworks on tonight you hear me.” The redhead spoke with his deep Scottish bur of a voice, before lifting the open end of his bottle to his lips to take a long swig. This action seemed to signal to the bald dark brown bearded man with a slightly more muscular frame then the dirty-blonde in the back seat behind him to reach back to aid in stealing away the fireworks launcher from the drunken Scottish pierced warrior.

        It seemed to Nigel that even with Alasdair’s slowed reaction time to disengage from drinking his rich refined brandy that he might have been able to fend off both Breandán, and Stevie’s grab for the scarce object. However it was his own actions in rolling the car’s steering wheel sharply to make the hard right hand turn off the long stretch of street and onto another.

        The sport car’s boot end fish tailing on the asphalt street, and almost struck the wrought iron bars of the Hollow cemetery that now made up the left hand shoulder of the street Nigel had turned his car onto. Hell he’d truly would have welcomed breaking the left fog lights or damaging left wing of his car, as long as they’d avoided the disaster he’d noticed with the construction Diversion sign on the street his car had turned right off.

        “Yeah, piss off you and you saving your fireworks for when you want to lunch them you red haired Scottish freak.” Stevie’s shouted celebration quickly drew Nigel’s attention once he’d gotten his car on the right side of the street it was speeding down. His lips slipped into deep downward edges at the sight before his hazel brown eyes as he sat up straighter behind the wheel at the sight of some of the dark ale in Stevie right hand as it splash out of the open top and onto the console between the front seats and the upholstery of the passenger seat.

         “Oi, watch hold your jerking your open bottle of ale around in my car Stevie, you American-Welsh bastard! I don’t care if it is high end ale I don’t need any stains ruining the inside of my baby.” Nigel groused sternly as gritted his teeth while he watched the balded chrome-dome with a beard turn forward in the passenger seat to his left.

        “Yeah, well Nig try nagging someone who gives a shit about your precious baby, as this isn’t your only sport car.” Retorted Stevie holding up the bottle of ale and then taking a swig of it while he used the back of his left hand to roll down the passenger side window as he laid out the nicked firework launcher across his left thigh and slide the open end out the downed window.

           A moment later a hissing noise came from the firework launcher as Stevie’s hand holding the ale bottle moved over a small red disc on the cylinder and there was a sudden boom at the end of the hissing noise. Both sparks and the fireworks erupting out of the end cylinder and wove back and forth up and down as they soared over the tops of the high wrought iron fence of the cemetery. The blurry circular of bright blues, reds, and greens filled a patch of rainy sky half way long the length of the cemetery.

         Nigel took a swig of his own ale was he winced not at sight of the fireworks on the boom but between of the wild and loud cackling from Alasdair directly behind him. “Now that was ace! I am sure that woke up the dead, and you know what you can fire off another one now if you like Steviee my boy.” The brainless dip-sticking Scot truly annoyed Nigel this evening as he watched burly brute slide up another launcher to the American-Welsh in the passenger seat. The bearded one who whole-heartedly accepted the new launcher briefly shoved the used launcher out the window and allowed it to simply roll around on the road.

          Nigel took a bit of satisfaction when he was forced to make a sharp and hard left hand turn at the end of the street and heard the Oouf as with the turn Alasdair. Said satisfaction was short lived as the jerky motion of the car as Nigel righted it on old Church Lane, was to have Stevie splash more of his ale over the passenger side of the car and to cause Breandán in the backseat to gasps ‘oops’.

        Which had caused the owner of said sport car to spare a brief glance back and notice that Irish drunk had opened another lager without his notice and spilled a third of it down onto the middle of the back seat’s floor. Truly the only thing about this night that Nigel could be thankful for was the sport car’s built-in anti-hydroplaning system, and he would be even more thankful if he made it into Halloween the following night alive. Of course at that time he’d also crew out his friends until they coughed up the money to have the interior of his car cleaned of all the stains and mess they were creating in their now drunken state.

         So deep in such thoughts that Nigel barely registered the boom of the second firework launcher out the passenger side window by Stevie. He turned his head fleetingly to watch the fireworks erupt over the cemetery and St. Jerome’s fence and exploded into another round of blurry bright colors these being different from the other as they were orange, yellow, and a bright purple. Nigel of course winced again at the antic of the drunken Scot behind him and took another sip of his ale while his friend in the passenger seat shoved another used fireworks launcher into the street and the Alasdair handed forward his third and last such firework launcher.

         Sparing glances every now then Nigel waited for Stevie to fire off the last of the fireworks but instead the blasted American-Welsh seemed sated from creating mayhem and simply sipped silently on his ale. The fact that the entire car seemed to have grown deafly quiet seemed to be ebb in the Mischief his drunken friends were recharging their batteries for. For the next six minutes Nigel had little to do but sip his ale and stare forward along the high street of the what had been one village center the Devon West country metropolis had risen up around and swallowed whole in its' rise to greatness.

        Such thoughts were washed from his mind as the sport car neared a four way intersection, and he needed to make a choice. Did he continue straight on Church Lane heaving south and towards the outskirts of the city. Should he turn right and head West into the ghetto area of this part of the city, or should he turn East onto Hollow lane. It would lead him back to the stretch of road he’d turned off because of the Diversion.

      On instinct or at least that was what Nigel thought at the time and might continue to think as the night speed by, he turned onto the street which housed his family home. Though it was further away up the street on his right and so he looked back and forth between the two the three story houses that had sprung from small or medium cottages with front and back gardens for the first two to three minute.

      Then on his right appeared a large well manicured front garden with a few towering trees and equally high manicured hedges that rose up behind the manor wrought iron fence. A large dark structure stood far back from the fence three stories tall. At the moment he gazed at it and if he’d never grown up in the place, he’d not know that it was built in Renaissance Revival style. That is until a streak of lighten flashes from heaven to garden between the car and mansion giving him and anyone else a chance to take in the architectural beauty of the style.

        The lightening strike drew Nigel’s eyes quickly up to spot a lone yellow light that poured out of the master bedroom on the third story of the house. He could make out a black silhouette. Though there was very little detail about the figure from such a distance he was certain by the faint shape and height that it was his father Simon Roden; would obviously be glaring down at his no account youngest son and his friends joy riding in such weather for in the older Roden mind it was for nefarious reason at worse and drunken ones at best. Nigel knew his father and knew that would be the thought process of the old man.

          “Alright here goes the last of the fireworks,” Stevie’s voice abruptly sounded into the silence of the car and quickly pulled Nigel’s gaze from his family home and to his friend in the passenger seat of his car. Briefly the young Roden glanced beyond his friend and to yet another wrought iron fence, though unlike both the cemetery/church’s or his family’ mansion. The property wasn’t well kept and seemed to have gone wild. Branches of nearly hedges that reached the ten foot high tops of the rusted and half broken spiked speared finials.

           The Potter estate as everyone in the metropolis knew it had stood nearly empty of all but the rotting and decaying stable remodel two car garage and the broken glass greenhouse for the last fifty-four years. There had been no action taken since supposedly disappearance in one night of the three story cottage of Number Seven Hollow Lane. It had as far as Nigel had heard from his father as he’d not been born yet when said cottage disappeared that had been of a comfortable size but was dwarfed by the Renaissance Revival style mansion of Number Six Hollow Lane.

          Even so it was well known that the Potter family was quite well off, especially as the property came with the adjacent parcel of woodlands a little further along, to the left of the cottage when it had been standing. Of course twenty years ago the governing body of the city had sealed a percentage woodlands away from the elderly and most likely ill or dying eccentric Harry Potter. The taken wood lands had been used to enlarge the area’s cemetery and squeeze in one hundred and something more grave plots.

         “Yeah that’s it!” The unified cries of excited had jolted Nigel out of such thoughts and he’d turned his head to see the last three explosions of bright silver, green, and red fireworks blossom blurry in the rainy air some thirty feet beyond the wrought iron fence of abandoned Number Seven Hollow Lane.

          “Oh yes we have truly called mischief on this glorious Mischief Night!” Both Stevie and Alasdair crowed in union. Nigel shook his head slightly and watched as Breandán slump back in the cushion of the backseat of the sport car. The Irish drunks head lolled back and his eyes closed as he rested his nearly half empty though most of it had been spilled rather then drunk lager between his thighs on the cushioned seat.

         Of course just because one of their number was now down for the count the night wasn’t yet over for the remaining three still awake thirty-somethings to get up to more Mischief before the night was through. With that in mind Nigel pressed firmer on the accelerator and his sport car leapt forward and picked up speed to delivery him and his drunken friends to the fork in the road. They’d of course take the left turn when they got to it and then be heading out of the city and towards the channel coast of Britain. It would be as far as he could go without his family’s money.

                                        <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

          Simon Roden watched for a few more minutes until his youngest son’s sport car disappeared into the inky, and wet night. He being very certain that it was his son’s car as there could be no doubt that such a sport car would be driven by anyone else in such weather but by his idiot and lazy son Nigel.

          Simon stepped back from the window has his right hand slide the heavy, dark blue curtain over the window panel as easily as if he it would be to close silently a door. His eyes turned back from the dark dreary night outside and to the well lit and refine yet stale atmosphere of the dying old man in the ornate. The old wrinkled and haggard face of the man in the king size bed with all the medical equipment hooked up to him and barely keeping the one hundred and twenty year old Sir Daniel Roden alive.

          Of course the old man in the bed had done quite the number on his body and damaged far beyond even what the continued advancement of medicine could repair. Simon briefly glanced away from his father and down at his own wrinkled flesh of his hands, and marveled that he’d outlived his four older half siblings to the first two wife if his father. He was of course the eldest of the remaining three adult Roden children born to Daniel Roden and not part of the grandchildren generation.

         Well he’d made sure that he and his children even his idiot youngest son would get most if not all of family fortune when his father died and there would be time to make more for himself to leave for his children when he was on his death bed perhaps when he was a hundred and sixty in seventy years time. Simon breath in deeply and gaze one last time towards his father in his death bed and then crossed the room towards the bedroom door. It was time to stop standing vigil over the old man and get some rest as he would have a lot to deal with in the morning. Mostly it would no doubt be cleaning up whatever trouble his son Nigel and his drunken troublesome friends got up to upon first rise of morning sun over the eastern horizon.

                                 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

        As the nearly ninety year old Roden was headed off to his bed for rest, another; who’d also watched the drunken antics of occupants of the luxury sport car, slowly slipping backwards between the bars of the iron fence and through the wild high hedges of number Seven Hollow Lane. The ghostly white and nearly transparent face and body of woman who looked to be in her early to mid forties, but who had the gaze of someone ten years older then that easily passed through the twisted and brambles of the hedges as easily as water through a sieve.

          Once clear of the hedge the floating ghostly woman in her long transparently white robes spun about to show the hedge and the street beyond the wrought iron fence her back. The eyes of this specter from beyond the grave of her physical body gazed out steely at the face of the ivy ravaged appearance of her falling apart family’s summer home away from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London former home and more visited haunt.

           It truly tore at the ghostly woman’s no longer beating dead heart to see the a place where her immediate family that included her husband and children had memorable summer days in the sun. Even flying on brooms in the depth of their own wood surround slightly smaller then standard Quidditch pitch.

           Of course the summer home got a bit more crowded when her only slightly older brother Ron and his family came over, though it was still fun to see her niece and nephew play with their cousins her children. In fact it was good to see any of her nieces and nephews of her older siblings though Ron and his children held something special in her now non-living heart and mind.

           As the specter woman floated closer and closer to the front door which hung off its’ hinges. She spied the missing glass panels in the windows of her husband’s former summer study to her right and the family lounge to her left on the ground floor. Her eyes then quickly glanced up to the hole in the roof in the center of the structure and he gulp slightly at the knowledge of what horrible spell had been used to ripped away the roof so many decades ago.

        The ghost turned her head and gaze to her right she looked up into the empty, and rotting window frame of her eldest son’s summer time bedroom. The very thought of that caused a shutter to course through her non-existing physical body’s form. Her semi-translucent throat moved as she were gulping down air as she pulled her gaze to the left hand side of the upper part of the house. The sight of yet another empty glass panels of the rotted wooden frame of the master bedroom shared between her and the ghost’s husband during their stays in the summer home.

       As her gaze dropped to the ground floor of the cottage she soared towards the unhinged door and quickly plunged through the physical barrier with her non-physical body. In less then two second the nearly she was through the door while her flowing long white robes and body than hovered over a slab of white marble that made up the entrance to the cottage. It was barely wider then the door though beyond the two by two square foot the foyer opened up beyond.

        A slight smile spread over the soft cheeked face with a many irradiate spots running over her transparent cheeks. It was now apparent now inside the cottage that the woman in life had a heavily freckled face. Which could be a curse or a blessing depending on if you came across someone who liked freckled faces in witches or wizards around the world. The ghostly slither of a smile faded away as ghost witch noticed both the deep spider web like cracks in the marble entrance stone and the moldy and decaying floor boards of the dark hard wood floor of the foyer.

       Some part of the former witch seemed to think perhaps it had been looked better when the foyer’s hard wood floors had been covered in the brown and blacken piles of wind swept leafs that had found their way into the home and died on where they lay. Of course the foyer did look cleaner without the leafs and the collapsed upper balcony that ran along the back, and side walls at level with the first floor. Even the missing staircase that had easily fit four men standing at abreast of each upper near the back of the foyer was an improvement to the scorched and broken runners and lands and banister.

         Of course it exposed the large rectangle block hole which was the hidden stairway down into the cottage cellar four foot away from the weather sliding wood paneled dinning room doors that made up most of the back wall. As the ghostly witch floated deeper into her summer home her eyes criticized more the choice of the faded and peeling wallpaper that stretch from the base boards to the ceiling of the foyer. The draw back to eyeing the peeling wallpaper was that it drew her gaze again to the hole in the cottage’s roof.

        Briefly the specter sorceress watched as the sheets of rain from the dark cloud lit by lightening streaks splashed off a magically invisible shield. Which for the area of the hole acted like the timber and tiled shingles that had been destroyed by one powerful wizard with one dangerous and deadly spell.

        For a moment the non-living spirit being seemed surprise to find herself hovering over a patch of dark hard wood floor that seemed to have been repaired to their finer glory. Said space held black, red, and white wax candles in silver candle holders spread out at differing distances from each other.

         In the next moment the ghostly female eyes noticed the fine gorge lines forming two interwoven circles within a pentagram which itself was within a larger circle then the first two. She also realized that the candles rested on points were lines of the circles with the pentagrams, or with strange squiggly symbols were gorged out in rectangular blocks curled on the insides of the large, or between the interwoven circles in the center of the pentagram.

         A very deep and fierce line of a frown formed on the ghostly face as her eyes harden with a gleam of hatred she’d not directed at the drunken idiots; who’d launched firework at her invisible to their eyes summer home. With a very distasteful huff she lifted her gaze only slightly up to avoid the hole above her head and gazed towards the back of the foyer and to the left side. From within a hole in the wall that was a wide doorway yellowish electric rather then magic light streamed from the room, where she knew in the depths of her spirit being was the culprit for the ritual circle in the hard wood floor of the foyer.

         Slowly the witch ghost floated closer and closer to the open doorway and though it would have been faster and simpler to float through a wall. She seemed to need the longer route to allow her anger to slightly abate, given she knew who was in the Potter family library, and even the reason for his carving of the ritual circle in the wooden floor. With a heavy sigh she turned into the doorway and floated over into the library.

           It was at first glance just like the rest of the cottage mostly in decline having allowed life’s cruelest servant time ravaged most of it. There was a bit more repair done but only to bare minimal that would allow it to be used by the sole human resident. The bookcases on the north and southern walls to her left and right were black crumbling away gradually. Between the bookcases on the northern wall both for the ground floor and the first floor ragged black curtains hung over windows, for what reason the ghostly witch couldn’t understand.

         After all the old wizard in the library seated behind the circular table in front stone fireplace in the very middle of the eastern wall. Could cast the spell to make such light from the three chandlers that hung from the library’s vault ceiling concealed from the view of the fifty or so wizarding family’s that called the metropolis their home. Whatever his reasons for not casting the spell the short white bearded wizard with balding patch forming at the center of his brow exposing more of his tanned complexion and the remnants of an unhealed zing-zang scar between his eyes.

         Noting that the wizard’s emerald green eyes and the whole of his frail slender body was focused on the hidden task surrounded by piles of dusty ancient tomes on the table. The being that no longer lived but still for some reason loved the wizard who’d been her husband in life. Even if he had betrayed her a year and six months after her death for a years time, she still loved him.

          His cohort in the betrayal though would never get any forgiveness from her, not only because she had hurt her deeply while the ghost had thought the other witch as a sister in everything but blood. The fact that the sister witch the ghost had loved had done which she had with her husband but that said bitch had even completely cross beyond the veil, and proving herself again better than the ghost witch who was doomed to haunt the Earth the rest of time.

         “There that does it Fawkes.” The wheezy weak and sickly voice of the wizard seated in the library murmured as a large swan size bird of red and gold plumage bowed its head and gave a little thrill, that seemed to give the wizard some inner strength as the three noted sound made its way around the inside of the vaulted ceiling library.

        The wizard rose slowly from his chair and the movement suddenly caught the internally denied witch of peace or sleep and snapped her from her brooding thoughts of the unfairness of life and death. Though mostly her never ending death which flared a bit of anger into her eyes.

         “Do you know what Nigel Roden and his drunken friends just did outside our summer home some ten or so minutes ago?” The shrilled tone of the spirit’s voice truly carrying a harshness she’d hoped to have kept from her voice when she confronted the elderly wizard. The wizard responded not as the ghostly spirit had expected and his light chuckle seemed to spark a bit more anger in the dead witch.

        “Truly and it is refreshing to find that a fragment of a momentary point of consciousness imprinted on the magical field of a witch who’d thrown herself in the line of death, to save her youngest child and only girl from her eldest and first born son. Finds that now that she has no link to the physical world but can burden herself with the goings on of the living.” The wizard gave another light chuckle as he lifted a miniature blue and golden shield smoothed rimmed heart shaped object into a pocket of his dark scarlet red robes.

       “Yes, well I can’t believe that a living wizard takes no notice of the very living world around him, and blows such pleasures away without a second thought!” Shot back the swiftly angered ghost witch. An almost triumphant smile and pearly white sparkly seemed to appear when the wizard had failed to respond back instantly and seemed to have paused to think over her remark. That feeling of triumphant deflated faster then a punctuated balloon as the elderly wizard stepped behind the Phoenix on the stand perch and steps around the circular flat table. The white hair and beard wizard then gave a very theatrical sigh before remarked in a calm and even tone.

         “Ah, well I am nearly spun off this living mortal coil. It isn’t as if I haven’t had a long run with many ups and downs. Merlin I might even consider being poisoned five years ago by the Neo-Death Eater, Neo-Dark Maya end of the world death cult, even Neo-Dark Death Mask, or even a new raising dark force. Someone who sees me as a threat to their rise to power and might enjoy seeing me die a slow painful death whenever I ebb and flow magic through my being. It is after all that I am facing death truly with no chance of a stay on my death. It has after all been the motivation to do what I’d normally never think to do.” Afterwards he gave a curt nod to the thing that as left of one of the witches he loved in his life and had married decades ago when he was still explore and learning about life and magic.

        He reached back to pick up a fifteen inch elder wood wand from the table amongst the dragon hide bound tomes, and pocketed it before a sudden noise behind him caused him to spin about to face the ghost in the library with him.

        “AAAAHHHHHHH!” The eardrum piercing scream that ripped through the ghostly throat of the momentary flash of fear echoed around the library. Unadulterated rage seeped like ink from an overturned ink well and began to form a puddle of dark emotion. That continued to grow large and thicker around the air of the hovering fragment of Ginevra Molly Weasley-Potter. Her hands and fingers seemed ready to grip and pull out every lock of her white flowing hair as she turned her head and gaze upon the skin and bones wizard with white hair and beard.

          “Damn it all! You truly sound like that betraying bitch Hermione Granger, and that is simply not something I can forgive from you or that slutty tramp!” The ghost’s chest seemed to heave up and down as if she were panting from the explosion of words that had left her at the very moment razor thin lips.

          “Yes well Hermione, was one of my best friend long before she was my wife Ginevra’s friend or even sister in law when she married her older brother Ron. I knew her from the moment I turned eleven until her death when she was fifty-six. Something of her was bound to rub off on me in all that time.” Harry the old wizard said as he gaze the spirit before him a sad little frown. Not because he pitied her but because with the outburst she had proven beyond a doubt that she was not anything like the witch he’d married and had three lovely children until losing said family in his mid to late fifties or early sixties.

          “Oh, yes something was bound to rub off on you.” The spirit muttered in a low dangerous voice as a wicked smirk formed on her lips of her face. “You did after all start fucking her a year and a half after my death and six months after your other best friend and her husband’s death for a whole year, Harry.” A predatory look formed on her face and deep in her transparent white eyes as she gaze straight at the wizard before her in the Potter library.

        “That is not what happened at all. I lost my wife and then three months later the daughter took her own life feeling regret for her mother’s action.” Harry said his voice gradually began to fill with emotion with every word that escape between his lips. The cool and calm exterior of the before slowly seemed to give way to the rising tension in the frail old wizard’s body. “A month later I lost my mild and youngest son with either his older brother, or the followers of said dark wizard brother.”

         Harry gradually reached back and his hands grasps the rim of the edge of the circular table behind him with the piles of tomes. He dug his fingers into the underside of the polished topped table and began to breath heavier and slower. Harry stared down this evil creature in the guise of his dead wife.

         “As for Hermione, she lost her elderly muggle parents, her husband my best friend and my wife’s brother along with their children and grand kids. All because James knew the best way to get to me and everyone else he wanted dead.” Tightly he closed his eyes as his voice grew colder then ice and the lights in the dozen light bulbs in each of the three from the ceiling flickered on and off very rapidly.

         “Was to attack defenseless elderly muggles, so he can prove to himself that he was the greatest of sorcerers in the history of the world for all time. Become some idea of becoming a dictator of both the magical and muggle world, and rule on high with fear and death in your wake. Hermione and I sought solace and safely in someone we both knew could understand the pain of our lost.”

         Harry’s trembled as he continued to try and hold onto the underside of the table, it was only a second later that he realized that his emotions were causing both his magic and the magic in the around him to ebb and flow through his body. He released the underside of the table and spun around as he threw himself onto the side of the sturdy table. His eyes wide as he knocked over a few books and his eyes chanced to take in a broken in half yew and holly wand without their phoenix feathers in them.

         “Fawkes I need some of your tears to abate the poison coursing through my veins.” The old wizard cried out in terrified voice. His left arm reached across his body and plunged into the front pocket of the right hand of his robes. When it withdrew he his left hand held a silver ornate goblet and he held it out before him on the table.

          Fawkes the Phoenix had already flown from his perch to the table and was lower its had towards the rim of the goblet, seven tears merging into one from both eyes trickling down the feather’s cheeks and over its golden break into the goblet. The convulsion in Harry’s body had reached almost that of a death rattle. It took cupping the silver goblet with both hands to lift it up to his lips and tip the tears into his mouth. Even so it took a good four minutes for Harry’s body to stop the involuntary shakes completely.

            When Harry lifted himself from the table and turned to gaze at the witch ghost something seemed to have snapped said specter of the dead as she seemed to have been drained of any color from her white transparent self and seemed truly sadly by what she’s witness first hand of the dying wizard.

         There were no words spoken between the wizard, Phoenix and ghost but both wizard and magical bird of fiery death and ashy rebirth moved as one towards the doorway of the library. The Phoenix flying over the stationary ghost while the wizard stepped around her with a very tired expression on his face.

          “Harry I am so sorry.” Ginny’s ghost muttered as she spun around and realized that the wizard she’d been apologizing to had already disappeared out over the threshold of the library’s doorway. She glided through the walls rather then go through the doorway and entered the foyer in time to see Harry lighting the last of the candles with a long stick lighter. He slowly straighten up and stowed the lighter in one of his two pockets of his robe.

           The blue and molten gold shield rested on the hard wood floor within the large circle as he stood with his feet on either side of the larger of the two inner circles.

             “Harry, I’m --” the ghost stopped in a gasping breath at the hard and cold gaze directed at her from the very hard edged and now dark green eyes behind the lens of the half moon spindly armed spectacles.

           “You’re going back to die and save your parents aren’t you? Of course I understand wanting to do that but wouldn’t it be easier to go back and kill Nisha before she can poison James with her ideas, or teach your younger self how to guide him away from such things?” The ghost of Ginny Weasley-Potter asked a bit timidly.

           “The ebb and flow of my magic to summon the Great Eternal Phoenix will cause the poison in me to shorten my remaining life greatly. As it is, I learned two days ago from a Healer that I have most likely a month, or maybe at the far end a month and half lift before I am dead.” Harry answered back in even slow words.

          “After I get back time I will at the best I might have a week or maybe only a few days. Neither is enough time to teach my younger self anything, or hunt down a dark witch whose true name isn’t known to me. Hell we can’t even be certain of when James met her on his trip to India. However, a day or two is all I need to save my parents and be the one to bestow upon my baby self the love protection. Just like when my mother stepped into Voldemort aimed wand and died for me I will instead do it in her place.”

         As Harry had delivered his speech he’d also closed his eyes and it was a shock to see when he opened them pearly white tears trickling down the face of the ghost who appeared to be his dead wife, but truly was nothing but a fake even if he’d so wished he could believe otherwise.

          Slowly Harry crouched down picking up one of the candle and using the burning flame to light the ends of two golden feathers woven into the blue and molten gold shield. He then rose and stretch his arms out to wide at his side and then began to chant the ancient language of the summoning ritual. At first nothing seemed to happen and then the flames in the candles grow about a foot higher from the tops of their candles.

          Back and forth Harry forced his magic through his body and with the flow invisible winds gusted through the foyer. Blue and gold sparks began to be emitted from the shield on the floor the dark blue sparks over the golden ones and then in half a second the foyer was bleached all in blue.

          With the heavy change in color the foyer that had been a mild October temperature in Devon and now was as cold as a grave. Harry forced himself to continue to recite the ritual while the icy needles stabbing into every inch of his body from expose face and hands and even through his robes, shirt and trousers underneath his robes. Two minutes into the bleaching of blue to the world it abruptly turned molten gold and the temperature rose to as if it was the hottest of summers in recorded history.

          As Harry finished he collapsed to one knee and pitched forward, his hands having to drop to the hard wood floor to keep him from falling forward. As he bowed his head blood sputtered from his mouth as he coughed several times. The air of the room grew heavily with magical energy and when said energy seemed ready to over flow the foyer a swirl of blue and gold seemed to melt out of the shield and grow in size to nearly fill the entire foyer and it dwarfed a grown elephant by three times.

         “Who has summoned me and for what propose am I brought out of my prison?” A ethereal voice seemed to shake the wooden walls and floor of the foyer and even crack the air of the room.

             “I Harry James Potter, summon you oh Great Eternal Phoenix.” Harry voice quivered as he coughed roughly several more times spitting up more blood onto the ritual circle curved into the hard wood floor. The elderly wizard had been through the Magical Law Enforcement department first as a simple Auror, then as the Head Auror and lastly as the head Enforcement of the department. As part of all three jobs he’d come into contact with very powerful and strong willed dark wizard, and witches. Some of them Harry had felt a twinge of fear but they were nothing that could have prepared him for the fear the being of magic as creating in him now. Despite that he needed to plunge forward as he’d already crossed and burned the bridge with all the magic it had taken to summon the being in the room with him.

           “As to why I have summoned you it is to make the standard accord that every witch or wizard does, given your legendary gift of burning down the walls of space and time.” Harry barely lifted his bowed head and rolled his eyes up slightly to glance at the swirling blue and molten gold underbelly of the giant hovering Phoenix before him.

          “Old wizard yet young mortal,” the ethereal voice spoke and it echoed off the walls of the foyer and even the invisible shield like roof; which seemed to be straining to hold in the being who spoke in such a tone. “If you have learned to summon me, and know my legend then you also know the price of my accords. The price is half their magical power of the whom ever summon along with half their remaining life. Now I can taste and feel that your magical power is great, but your remaining life could be comparable to a fleeting insect. Which though I’d consider taking half of it and leaving you with perhaps a few hours time left. It is not worth it enough to truly preform the task you ask of me.”

            “Yes I guessed as much, but what if I can offer you something else that you might enjoy more then my magic or half my remaining life.” Harry spoke up as his voice gradually grew calmer and even firmer. He slowly rose from his hands and knees on the floor to stand straight up while breathing still very heavily. “I can offer you your freedom from the prison formed by the ancient wizards of old and your jealous brothers and sisters of the Cosmo.” Harry briefly stared down at the shield and then smiled smugly as he lifted is gaze up to stare directly at the face of the grand Phoenix before him.

           The large blue and gold phoenix intensely down the elder wizard for what might have seemed and eternity but was only more or less two minutes before his head cocked and his gaze shifted to something on the hard wood floor to Harry and the ritual circle’s left. “Is that one of my children?” The ethereal voice seemed to speak out loud and only paused a moment before giving answer to its own question. “Yes it is, and one of the very first. Are you friends?”

           “Yes, Fawkes and I are friends.”

            “I was not speaking to you wizard, but to my child!” There was a deep and threatening rumble now in the ethereal voice that had not been there a moment ago as the giant phoenix’s gaze bore down on the elderly Harry. “Do not speak again unless you wish to die here and now you filthy little mortal.” The phoenix's head shift again and its’ gaze returned to Fawkes on the hard wood floor as said smaller and younger phoenix gave several thrilled notes some deep another as light as feathers to the ears.

            “If you are certain that he is trustworthy to keep his word, then so be it. We have an accord old wizard yet young mortal.” The larger phoenix’s head turned back to face Harry as it spread out its fiery wings. “Step forward and name the place and time you wish to me to burn the walls of space and time to!”

        “This place, one hundred and nineteen years ago.” Harry answered without hesitation and moved towards the ancient phoenix. Fawkes thrilled and leaped into the air and took roost upon the old and frail looking wizard’s left shoulder.

           “Sorry but ghost can’t come on this journey, as the tomes clearly state you are not of this world and only something truly of this world can be transported through time.” Harry spoke as he’d stopped half way to the giant phoenix in the foyer and looked to the hopeful ghost that had glided closer towards him. He then slowly began to stride closer to towards his destiny and a chance to rewrite history for what might be the better and give a orphan child his parents back with a happy upbringing.

         “Alright, and I am sorry for my outburst earlier, Har–“ the words of Ginny’s ghost trailed off as her eyes grew as large as saucers as the blue and gold phoenix pounced forward so suddenly and engulfed Harry were he stood. The gold and blue began to form a sphere about the wizard and gradually began to shrink causing the old mortal man to curl up into a fetal position. Even so the sphere grew smaller and smaller seeming to crush and kill the wizard though there was not scream of pain or agony from within from Harry Potter or at least the ghost of Ginny didn’t hear any.

           In seconds the sphere as the size of a marble and a pulsating aura of blue and gold surround the nearly pure blue marble with a dot of molten swirling gold. This state lasted perhaps half a second before the marble collapsed in on itself and it was gone with a sound or sign of warning. A minute latter from the space were the marble had disappeared erupt outward gold and blue flames that raced through the foyer like the back-draft of a raging fire. The force and speed of the erupt pushed outward on the walls of the cottage and tore them apart with a earth shattering boom as the cottage exploded into a fire ball with bits of word, tile and fling every where.

        What ever magic that had been used to conceal the cottage for the last half century was shattered and if not for what happened next or the fact that the time-line was about be altered. Four drunken thirty-somethings might have been charged with causing the explosion, but then time seemed to stop and the wreckage of the cottage froze in mid-air. Almost instantly it then was quickly pulled backwards towards point of the explosion by a more violent wind then that of the storm around it or any in history. Everything the smoke and pieces o debris along with the rain and a few bolts of lighten were pulled into a pin-prick sized black vortex before it blinked out of existence and into the depths of time itself.

**Author's Note:**

> * Translation: “Alasdair, hand it to Stevie the fire-fireworks launcher, so I can see how this storm effects them.” 
> 
> Now some may argue why I don't make it understandable in the story rather the mark it for translation. After all I could have stated that his words were slurred, but I simply wanted to express how drunk he when he was speaking. Now other might argue that no one who is drunk might sound or speak as one would read said drunken slur in the story. I would of course disagree as I've known my fair share of drunks and though others might not have heard them like this. I have and it is my fanfic and my decision to write how I please.
> 
> Now that all said I would ask anyone reading this chapter to tell me if I overacted in rating the fic Mature? As nothing in the coming chapters has anyone speaking as the ghost Ginny does during her rant about Hermione. Please contact however you like or leave me a comment in the comments section, if you post anything. Please tell me truthfully if you think that I could lower the rating from Mature to the rating just below it.


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